


The Wizarding World of Virgil Storm

by Ericthometer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericthometer/pseuds/Ericthometer
Summary: Virgil Storm was hardly excited for his eleventh birthday- another boring year in a boring life where everything stayed the same; until an 8 1/2 foot man showed up at his parents' London apartment's doorstep with a letter, and changed his life forever. Whisked into a world of magic, Virgil embarks on a journey of self-discovery, and makes some new friends on the way.(Yes, another Sanders Sides/Harry Potter AU fic; I figured I'd try my hand at it. Heavily inspired by mandeebobandee's "Hogwarts Havoc" Series- go check it out!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Brief History Of Virgil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14884247) by [mandeebobandee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandeebobandee/pseuds/mandeebobandee). 



> Relationship stuff doesn't begin until Year 6.  
> Do feel free to point out any grammatical errors.

Virgil woke to a knock at his bedroom door. He opened his eyes, squinting as he shifted to sit up. Another knock, slightly faster.  
"Yeah?" He called out, clearing his voice. There was a hushed whisper, some sort of muttering from behind the door, but he couldn't quite make it out. Virgil glanced over at the calendar on the wall. A week until his eleventh birthday.  
"Virgil, dear, there's someone here who wants to talk to you." He arched an eyebrow. Why would someone ask for him? Virgil threw on some decent clothes and opened the door, stepping out. His mother stood just a few feet away, visibly uncomfortable.  
"Who-?" He began to ask, stopping as he saw the giant man leaning over in his apartment living room.  
"Why, hallo!" The giant said in a gruff but gentle voice. He was about three times wider than tall, but he still had to tilt his head down not to bump the ceiling. The man looked a bit aged despite the kind of fire in his eyes, with shallow-but-still-noticeable laugh lines and a few streaks of grey in his frazzled black beard. He took a few enthusiastic steps forward and flashed a toothy grin.  
"You must be Mr Virgil Storm, am I right?" Virgil nodded his head, trembling a little.  
"Good! I am Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts!" He blinked a couple of times.  
"Hog- what?"  
"Hogwarts, o'course. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Speakin' of, here ye are." He produced a slightly crinkled cream-coloured envelope with a red wax seal. "Yer Hogwarts acceptance letter." Virgil took the envelope and cautiously opened it, making a few accidental tears in the envelope. He took out the first sheet of folded-up paper and examined the contents.  


"Dear Mr. Storm,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
Yours Sincerely,  
-Minerva McGonagall,  
Headmistress."


	2. Chapter 2

Virgil looked up from the paper.  
"'Witchcraft and Wizardry?'" He said aloud with a hint of derision. Was this some sort of practical joke? Did his parents plan this as some sort of... weird premature birthday present? Virgil's gaze shifted between his mother, father, and, err... "Hagrid."  
"Yessir, didntcha know? Yer a wizard, Virgil."  
"I'm a what?" He screwed his face in confusion. Sure, still-kid inside him really wished that were true- to go on magical adventures and learn spells and charms and potions... but it was too good to be true. His stomach sank. As if he could actually do all that. This all felt so patronizing. Virgil's attention snapped back to Hagrid as he spoke.  
"A wizard," Hagrid whispered with a tiny bit of awe as if that kind of thing still surprised him. "Tried-and-true, no-two-ways-a 'bout-it. I came to yer, ah..." He looked around the apartment. "...home... ta 'splain ev'rythin'. See, Hogwarts sends us out ta 'splain ta muggle fam'lies a 'bout the wizarding world."  
"Muggle?" Virgil parroted questioningly. Was that even a real word?  
"Non-magic folk, like yerselves." He pointed to Virgil's parents.  
Hagrid explained about Hogwarts for (Virgil checked his phone) about an hour. It was interesting, he was sure he must've been paid well to remember all that... or maybe he was just improvising. Either way, it all seemed very convoluted.  
"So, ya see..." Virgil woke from his stupor. "Yer son's a wizard, Mister n' Missus Storm."  
Virgil's father stood. "Well that was all quite entertaining, sir, it really was, but I'm afraid this..." He gestured in Hagrid's direction but clearly meant to regard him. "...this is all quite enough. I'm sure whoever set this all up put a fair bit of effort into it." He fancied an awkward chuckle. "Capital bit of acting, Mr. 'Hagrid,' jolly good, but as I said, this is all quite enough. Adieu, gov." He swept his hand to the door, careful not to seem overly aggressive.  
"Aw, come now, Mr Storm! Yer boy Virgil here's a wizard!" Virgil blanched. How did this man know his name? Was he really a wizard?  
"I'm sure he is." Mr Storm replied sarcastically. "Now would you please leave these premises? I do not want to call the authorities, but if I must-"  
"Well, there's no need fer that."  
"There most assuredly is!" Virgil's father raised his voice. "We have tolerated your wizarding rubbish for long enough and I will call the police if you do not remove yourself this instance!"  
"Mister Storm, why don't we just calm down with some tea and biscuits, think I even have a little bit of custard in me knapsack here, n' talk things over, eh?"  
Virgil frowned at the thought of warm custard.  
"Absolutely not!" Virgil's father yelled. "Dear, telephone the police, I'll escort Mr. 'Hagrid.'" He took a step toward the giant but tripped over a bump in the rug, falling onto the floor.  
"Wingardium Leviosa." Mr Storm pushed himself up, but couldn't feel the ground beneath him. He was... floating! He was floating a foot above the ground!  
Hagrid held an umbrella he procured from inside his coat and was pointing the tip at Mr Storm, keeping him afloat. He chuckled, his belly (and the living room) shaking as he laughed. "Now where'd'ya say you was escortin' me to?" Hagrid cackled breathlessly. "Azkaban Prison?" He burst into another chortle.  
Virgil giggled in spite of himself. This 8 1/2 foot tall giant-of-a-man was standing in the middle of his living room, and made his father float in mid-air! Mrs Storm held the telephone in her hand but stared wide-eyed at the scene playing before her.  
Virgil went from giggling to laughing, his face warm. He hadn't actually laughed in so long... it felt great. Hagrid righted Mr Storm and set him down gently with a flick of his umbrella.  
"Believe it 'r not, Mister n' Missus Storm, but magic is real- spells, charms, potions, all of it. N' ya can believe it 'r not, but yer son- Virgil-" He glanced over at Virgil and nodded. "He's a wizard."


	3. Chapter 3

Virgil stood on the pavement just outside the apartment building, looking up at the morning sky. It was just before dawn; the sun hadn't yet risen, and he could see the last few stars shining. It was quiet, aside from the chirping of very early birds and a couple of crickets here and there strewn about in the damp emerald grass. The city- or at least the suburbs- were always like that before traffic started and everyone went to work. He checked his phone.  
5:00 sharp. Hagrid's instructions last month were... admittedly pretty cryptic, but he made it clear to wait outside with his valuables packed at exactly 5 o'clock. And so there Virgil stood, his personal items packed in a trunk beside him (really just a few pairs of clothes- he didn't know what else to bring) waiting for the giant to appear. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, his breath steamy in the chilly air.  
It was uncharacteristically cool for a late Summer morning; an impatient cold front decided not to wait until Autumn. Virgil shivered a little and shifted in his hoodie.  
From a distance, he could hear a spattering put-put sound, like an old, old car that hadn't been driven in a while starting up. Virgil looked both ways down the street, but it was either empty or too dark to tell because he didn't see anything. He disregarded it and did a little bounce on the balls of his feet as he resumed waiting. There it was again, a little louder now. Virgil glanced down the street, but still nothing. Suddenly he could feel the ground rumbling as a worn blue motorized scooter ridden by a familiar giant made a hard landing on the asphalt in front of him. Virgil jumped back, his ankle catching on his trunk as he found himself sitting on the pavement a moment later.  
"Sorry a 'bout tha', lad," Hagrid said as he dismounted, adjusting his scratched aviator goggles. "She's an 'ole thing, this one." He patted the front seat. "Need'a take 'er in fer a tune-up but I hav'nt had the time."  
Virgil got to his bearings and wiped the dust off his jeans. "It's fine, Mr Hagrid."  
"'Ere, lemme 'elp ya with that." Hagrid picked up Virgil's trunk and fastened it to the side of the scooter, lifting it as if it were a feather. He jostled the straps to check if it was secure. "Right then, Mr Storm, all sett'led in. 'Op on the back seat n' let's us take off, eh?"  
Virgil hesitated. "Um, where exactly are we going, Mr Hagrid?"  
Hagrid climbed back onto the front seat. "Why, ta Diagon Alley! We're else 'r ya gonna get yer supplies?" Virgil scratched the nape of his neck and climbed onto the back seat.  
"About that, sir, um... I'm afraid I only packed about 5 quid, and I don't know how much these items cost." He fished in his pocket and brought out a folded piece of parchment- his supply list- unfolded it and skimmed over the contents. "And I doubt we could find much of this in London."  
Hagrid turned back in his seat and met Virgil's eyes. "Not if ya know where ta go." He tapped the side of his rather large nose and turned back around. "Now, ya all strapped in?" Virgil re-folded the paper and stuck it back in his pocket as he glanced about the scooter.  
"There aren't any-!" He was cut off as they launched into the dawn sky, a trail of fiery black smoke trailing behind.


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil usually wasn't scared of heights. Unless, of course, when flying over London in a magical motorized scooter going who-knows-how-many kilometres an hour without a safety belt, but that was a fairly recent discovery. He clutched the seat beneath him as forcefully as he could, the wind (although being blocked somewhat by Hagrid's body) whipping his hair and rippling his hoodie. Virgil panicked, his face pale and knuckles white as he held on for dear life. The scooter suddenly lurched, and he began to hyperventilate as they shot down, the street closing in. He braced himself and screwed his eyes shut as they came to a skidding halt, and opened them ever-so-cautiously to see the scooter parked neatly beside the pavement and Hagrid calmly stepping onto the pavement, laughing heartily.  
"Ha-ha! Oh, I love takin' the 'ole girl out fer a spin. Better th'n any portkey out there, she is." Virgil let go of the seat and stepped off, raking his fingers through his hair to fix it. "Whadd'ya think?" He took a few deep breaths, leaning against a building's wall with an arm outstretched to keep balance.  
"Fun." He laughed dryly, breathing easier. "But let's please never do that again." Hagrid broke out into another chortle, sighing contentedly when he finished.  
"Right then. 'Ere we are, The Leaky Cauldron." He announced. Virgil just saw a dilapidated building with a rusty metal rod sticking out (an old signpost, he presumed), but almost immediately a large metal cauldron appeared hanging by a few small chains from the rod, a part resembling a splash leaking water protruding from the side. Hagrid took a step toward the door, but Virgil stopped him.  
"Mr Hagrid, is this... is this a pub? I'm a minor, and my parents would be terribly cross if-" Hagrid chuckled yet again. He found quite a lot of things funny, Virgil noticed.  
"Well, aye, it's a pub, but you won't be drinkin' anythin'. B'sides, yer prob'ly too young fer Butterbeer, e'vn." Butterbeer? It was probably like root beer, but it sounded awfully caloric. "Anyways, follow me. I'll buy ya breakfast, on me, 'cause I had ya wakin' up so early n' then we'll be on our way ta Diagon Alley."

...

Hagrid opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron and stepped in, Virgil in tow.  
"Hagrid!" Came a voice yelling from behind the front counter. He was an ancient, balding man with bottle cap glasses, evidently the innkeeper or something similar as he was cleaned out a drinking glass.  
"Howdy do, Tom?" Several colourfully dressed witches and wizards- some with extravagantly foaming drinks and powder pipes, some with simple cups of tea- looked up at Hagrid with a keen interest or wonder.  
"Just fine, my good man! Business is grand; I've got quite a few regulars..." He nodded at a group of people having a right merry time.  
"Though it would be nice if one of my best customers stopped by once in a while," Tom said sarcastically, cough-laughing.  
"Oh, come now Tom! I've been busy fer a se'son, but I'll be back 'round soon, dontcha start thinkin' otherwise, eh? Now, how's yer health these days?"  
The innkeeper made a tight smile. "I work in a pub, what do you think, Hagrid?" The two laughed, and most of the nosy witches and wizards turned back to their original activities, disappointed by the apparent fact that the giant was probably not there to entertain them. "So, what'll it be?" Tom leaned on the bar counter, waiting for Hagrid's order.  
"Oh, no drinks fer me t'day I'm afraid; I'm escort'n young Mr Storm 'ere to Diagon Alley, but if ya could fix us up with some breakfast, that'd be ex'llent." He moved a step to the right to Tom could see Virgil.  
"Right away, sir. What would you like?" It occurred to Virgil that he didn't have a menu.  
"Umm..." Hagrid leaned in to help.  
"It's his first time ta the wizarding world, so let's get somethin' familiar. Ah..." He thought. "One plate 'a pancakes with some orange juice for the lad, and a cream tea fer me'self."  
"Cream tea so early?" Tom muttered confused. "Right then, coming up."  


...

Virgil and Hagrid sat at one of the tables for a while, talking about Hogwarts while they ate. The two finished their breakfast and stood, Hagrid passing Tom a handful of shiny coins from his pocket, and made their way to the back door.  
"What's back here?" Virgil asked, confused. Hagrid opened the door and they found themselves in the magical world of storage barrels and a brick wall. He turned to Virgil with a glint in his eye.  
"Diagon Alley."


	5. Chapter 5

" Mr Hagrid... this is a brick wall." Hagrid smiled, a far-off look in his eyes as if he were remembering something. He lifted his umbrella and tapped the end of it on a rain-faded brick. Virgil stepped back as the wall shuddered, letting loose tiny clouds of gathered dust as the bricks turned in on themselves and re-formed into a large archway. He stared wide-eyed at the scene in front of him- a paved cobblestone street with rows of fanciful medieval English cottage-and-millhouse styled shops with blue-tinted windows and owl cages hanging from the roof ends, a looming off-white building at the square with far-leaning columns, and all sorts of wizards and witches and their children walking here-and-there to shop for last-minute Hogwarts necessities.  
"You were sayin', Virgil?" Hagrid smiled, his laugh lines crinkling. Virgil was dumbstruck for nearly a solid minute before collecting his thoughts.  
"So... this is Diagon Alley?"  
"Yessir!" Hagrid took a proud look around and fished in his coat, producing a pocket watch and gingerly eyeing the time. "6 o'clock." He muttered, closing it and replacing it into his cost pocket. "Right then. We'll hafta stop by Gringotts fer yer Hogwarts student ticket, then we'll's us shop fer yer supplies."  
"Student ticket?" Virgil asked as they walked toward the North Side square, bobbing-and-weaving through the growing bustle.  
"Hogwarts sets aside a 'lil fund fer students to buy their, ah, valuables, ev'n more since Minister Granger went int'a office." He got that far-off look in his eyes again, but it faded. The two walked to the front of the white, leaning building. Virgil felt a bit anxious about the structural integrity, but Hagrid supplied a reassuring nod. Magic, he guessed.

...

Virgil stepped inside Gringotts Wizarding Bank, an elegant but sombre great hall opening before him, flanked on either side by imposing desks, behind which a company of shrewd-eyed goblins furiously tapping quills in inkwells and scrawling onto sheets of parchment by wax-melted candlelight. He and Hagrid crossed the hall to a lavish front desk manned by a wrinkly, conspiratorial head goblin with a spotless but creased suit and corn-silk hair. The goblin looked up.  
"Ah, Mr Hagrid..." He rasped, eyeing Virgil with a sneer. "And company." The goblin glanced back to Hagrid. "To what business of yours does Gringotts Bank owe?" He smiled formally, baring his razor-sharp teeth. Virgil flinched and stepped closer to Hagrid. The corners of the goblin's mouth twitched, smiling at the sight. Hagrid noticed, giving the banker a quick severe wince.  
"Young Mr Storm 'ere requires 'is Hogwarts Student Ticket, sir. A stand'rd withdraw'l from the student fund."  
"I see." The goblin replied in his haughty, high-pitched voice, sneering at Virgil. He suddenly felt rather embarrassed about the fact that he was wearing jeans and a hoodie inside of a bank. "And is there anything else we can do for young Master Storm? Perhaps open an account, put in an investment?" The goblin revelled in his sarcasm, Virgil starting to blush.  
"Actually, yes." The goblin blinked a couple of times.  
"Excuse me, young man?" He asked incredulously. Virgil produced the five pounds from his jeans pocket. The head goblin raised an eyebrow, squinting at the money the boy held.  
"An investment, sir." Virgil smiled; the cards were in his deck now. "5 pounds sterling, post-haste, please." Hagrid gave him a sideways smirk as the banker took the money and clutched it in his tiny, gnarled hands.  
"Muggle currency." He muttered under his breath. The goblin suddenly put on an air of formality again. "Of course, young man. An excellent financial decision and we of Gringotts Wizarding Bank and affiliates do thank you for your generous courtesy." He forced himself to bow, revealing just how small he was behind the desk. The goblin rang a bell on his desk, another well-dressed goblin with glasses speed-walking to the desk from the back.  
"Yes, sir?"  
"Student ticket." The head goblin pointed at his subordinate.  
"Follow me, please." The little man squeaked.


	6. Chapter 6

Virgil's Converses tapped against the cobblestones of the street of Diagon Alley, Student Ticket in-hand. He glanced down at it: a slip of parchment, all-expense paid for supplies (though, as Hagrid explained, he probably shouldn't spend it all on gold cauldrons and crystal phials)- a rather generous thing for Hogwarts to do, Virgil thought as passerby kept giving him once-overs. He needed some wizarding robes, fast.  
"Mr Hagrid?" Virgil asked, getting the giant's attention as he lumbered behind.  
"Hmm?"  
"Where do we go shopping for robes?" Hagrid stroked his beard.  
"Well, you'll want Madam Malkin's, but I was thinkin' you'd want ta stop by Ollivanders first." Virgil raised an eyebrow.  
"What's at Ollivanders?" The corner of Hagrid's mouth upturned.  
"Maybe you'd like ta find out fer yer'self?" He took out his umbrella and pointed at the shop behind Virgil with it. He turned, reading the sign- Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.  
"A 'wand-maker?'" Hagrid nodded.  
"Ain't never been a bett'r one. Now..." He looked both ways down the street and leaned in. "I've got some 'mportant bus'ness ta take care of. Go ahead 'n shop fer yer things; I'll just be a minute." Virgil felt his chest tighten as Hagrid took a step away.  
"You're coming back, right?" His fingers twitched nervously.  
Hagrid chortled. "O'course, I jus haf'ta pick up some stuff too. I should be done by tha time you have everythin'." Virgil's pulse returned to normal.  
"What if I get lost?"  
"Don't hesitate ta ask someone fer 'elp if ya need it; ya can always find good comp'ny in the light." He winked. "And, a bit 'a advice, don't go meddlin' ov'r in Knockturn Alley. Tha's a run-in bound ta 'appen- the bad kind."  
Hagrid took another step, using his umbrella as a walking stick. "I really need'a be off, I'll be back, okay?"  
Virgil nodded and Hagrid walked off.

He looked back at the shop- the quaint first-floor of a three-story building with a fern green sign and sepia-tone dust-frosted windows. Virgil walked over and opened the door carefully as it made a long creak, stepping in. It was rather cluttered, with stacks of little boxes lining the corners and scaffolded piles of thick tomes leaning against the wall. Behind the front desk stood rows of sectioned wooden bookcases (or wand cases, rather) filled to the brim with little boxes of varying colour, height, and marking. A fire hazard if he ever saw one.  
Suddenly there was shuffling from the back. Virgil peered through the wand cases, spotting a figure in a wheelchair. The wheels clicked against the hardwood floor as the figure made its way to the front desk, the chair pushing itself as the figure's hands were folded in his lap.  
"Hullo, young man." A glass lamp flickered alive as the figure came into the light. He was an ancient-looking man, with deep-etched wrinkles on his face and hands and a head of unruly cotton-white hair. "Do you need anything?"  
Virgil showed the man his Student Ticket. "Um, I'm looking to purchase a wand, sir."  
The man smiled, his jowls stretching. "Well, there isn't a better place in London. Mr Garrick Ollivander." He introduced himself, leaning far forward to give Virgil a weak handshake over the desk.  
"Hullo, Mr Ollivander." Virgil nodded and shook his hand. "Virgil Storm. I'm, err, quite new to Diagon Alley... do I just choose a wand?" If that was the case then he might be there for a while.  
"To be precise..." A light shone in Mr Ollivander's eyes as he leaned back into his wheelchair. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Storm." Virgil raised an eyebrow.  
"How so, if you'd pardon?" The man sat upright, looking at him with a playful expression.  
"I've been in the wand business for quite a long time, young man, so believe you me that the wand does, indeed, choose the wizard." Ollivander studied him, cocking his head a little.  
"Pine. Dragon-heartstring. 12 inches exactly." He nodded and wheeled to a section of the back, reaching up to get a small, thin, high-shelved box with ink lettering.  
Ollivander turned back to Virgil.  
"Here, give it a whirl." Virgil took the box and opened it, revealing a 12-inch-long dark pine wood wand with two small, protruding bulbs and a firm handle. He flicked his wrist, the end of the wand brightening with a golden light and a breeze whipping around the shop, flapping at loose papers.  
Virgil laughed, eyebrows shooting up. "I-I'm doing it!" He yelled, content to giggle a little as Ollivander watched him, smiling.  
"I'm a wizard!"


	7. Chapter 7

Virgil shut the door of Ollivanders as he left, slipping his wand into a belt loop on his jeans. (It would've stuck out of the pocket, he came to realize after awkwardly trying to put it in.) He expected it to be loose, but it was just thin enough to fit in the loop and the little knobs kept it mostly in place. Virgil stepped out into the street- the cobblestones darkening with spots of pre-rainstorm drizzle. A soft rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and he could already feel a couple of raindrops falling on his hair. Virgil winced and looked around. He'd rather not get lost in the middle of a downpour, of all things. Where was Hagrid?  
He paused his scanning of the crowd and furrowed his brow as he suddenly couldn't feel the persistent drizzle on his head. Virgil looked up to see if the rain stopped, only to stop halfway as he noticed a boy about his age next to him holding up a wand. He took an unconscious step back, the rain resuming to wet his hair.  
"Um, hullo?"  
"Oh, sorry." The boy was about Virgil's height and age- the wee pre-teen years- with a thick-lensed pair of glasses and a light blue sweatshirt tied around his neck on top of his Hogwarts robes. "I just noticed you were getting rained on a bit, so I, uh..." He looked up at the translucent umbrella-like spell he was casting, raindrops falling off the sides as he kept half-dry underneath. "That was too forward. Sorry."  
"No, it's alright. Thanks." The boy extended his wand so the umbrella spell covered them both, this time Virgil not moving away. "I'm afraid I'm looking for someone, so... I best be off..."  
"I could help you find them if you'd be alright with that." The boy gave him a nervous smile. Why he was so eager to help, Virgil didn't know, but at least he could stay dry while trying to find Hagrid.  
"Okay, then." The two started walking, sharing the spell between them.  
"So... what's your name?"  
"Virgil Storm." He replied. "And you?"  
"What a neat name! I'm Patton Wright."  
"Well, it's nice to meet you."  
"Same here."

...

The crowds slowly retreated into the shops as the rain picked up even more, soon leaving only the two walking down the street. Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil spotted a dark alleyway. He turned his head- it was a gloomy row of dreary buildings, out-of-place from the rest of Diagon Alley, even in the rain. A near-dilapidated wooden sign nailed at a slanted entryway read "Knockturn Alley."  
"We shouldn't go in there..." Patton said quietly.  
"Yeah." Virgil stared down the alley, entranced. "Hagrid said to stay away from it." He agreed slowly, reminding himself.  
"Hagrid?" Patton asked. Virgil looked back at him. "You-you mean Rubeus Hagrid?"  
"Um, I think that's his first name." The pair, engrossed in their conversation, hardly noticed the lumbering figure shambling out of Knockturn Alley.  
"Sure as it'll e'vr be, last time I check'd." Hagrid said, the green canister labelled "Flesh-Eating Slug Repellant" in his hand shaking as he chuckled.

Patton was so starstruck he nearly dropped his wand. "It's- it's him! Mr Hagrid, it's a pleasure to meet you!" Virgil watched, confused.  
"Hah!" Hagrid laughed. "Hav'n't had som'one rec'g'nise my c'lebrity in quite a while."  
"You're famous?" Virgil asked. Patton snapped his head toward him.  
"Of course! You don't mean you've never heard of him and Harry Potter? Hermione Granger, even?"  
Virgil was dumbfounded. "I'm a, um, 'Muggle-born.'"  
"Oh." Patton realized. "You'll probably hear a lot more about it at Hogwarts, then." He withdrew his wand and took a couple steps back. "You seem to have found who you were looking for, so I'll go. See you at Hogwarts!"


	8. Chapter 8

Mr. Storm looked through the peephole, staring out to find the perpetrator of the knock at his door. There stood Virgil, his hair wind-whipped and drenched, as he patted several luggage bags next to him. That... "Hagrid" fellow stood on the pavement, bent over his scooter. He cautiously opened the door, mindful not to make eye contact with the giant man. Virgil hauled his cases into the apartment, giving Hagrid a friendly nod before Mr Storm shut the door swiftly.  
"Can you help me with my stuff, dad?" Mr Storm picked up a couple of cases and brought them to Virgil's room before going back to the rest.  
"Oh, Virgil, dear, are you back?" He set down the bag he was trying to carry.  
"Yes, mum."  
"Ah, good." She was busy in the kitchen, not looking up. "Did you make any little friends?" Virgil's mother had a habit of asking him those types of questions. She cared, of course, the poor boy never had any friends... not really. But she had a hard time talking to him without sounding patronizing.  
"I talked to someone else who's going to Hogwarts as well, but other than that, not really."  
Mrs Storm "hmm"-ed in acceptance.  
"Virgil Storm!" His father yelled from his room. Virgil and his mother turned as a lean brown-and-black tabby cat ran past.  
"You brought an animal into this apartment!" He raised his voice, careful not to be too loud as to upset the neighbours or stir the landlord. "Do you realize how irresponsible..."  
Virgil sighed, trying to dissolve the cold tension in his stomach. "Dad, I asked you if I could get a kitten earlier this morning." He wiped the sweat off his hands on his hoodie. "You said yes."  
Mr Storm huffed. "Well..." Mrs Storm stepped in.  
"You did say yes, dear." She said quietly.  
"Then why didn't you stop me?" Virgil's mother went back to the kitchen, her cheeks bright red.  
Virgil's father looked back to him. "You are responsible for this, young man." He knew his dad meant the cat, but there was a biting tone in his voice that seemed to allude to something else.  
"I understand."  
"Do you now?"  
"Yessir," Virgil started. "I expect to take care of him in full, even at Hogwarts."  
Mr Storm rolled his eyes, exasperated. "That is the expectation. Take the rest of your bags to your room, as well as that mangy alley-cat, and make yourself scarce until dinner."  
"Yessir." He repeated, taking another case and making his way to his room as he was dismissed.  
"And take that twig out of your belt loop. You look ridiculous."

...

Virgil looked out of his bedroom window at the stars. They were hard to see in London, even on a clear night, but he could still spot a few. He closed his eyes and flopped onto the bed, face down, staying in that position a good minute or two before tilting his head up. His kitten laid on the pillow in front of him, staring curiously.  
Virgil smiled at him. "I haven't named you yet, have I?"  
The tabby meowed in response.  
"Windsor." He decided, smirking. "A Bristol-fashion name for a feline friend. What do you think?"  
The kitten cuddled up next to him and purred.


	9. Chapter 9

Virgil stared out the window for quite a while, losing track of time as he counted the stars when the few breaks in grey overcast passed by. He heard his parents bickering down the hall, their voices muffled and indistinct save for their respective cadences. They weren't yelling, thank goodness, but their tones almost sounded like it. He could hear a couple of snippets of their argument, in particular phrases like "your son," but he didn't care all that much. They'd settle down before dinner and pretend it didn't happen, just like always, and he'd just have to pretend too. Best not make it worse.  
Windsor padded over from the bed and rubbed himself on Virgil's arm, curling up on the desk in front of the windowsill.  
"Hey again." The kitten glanced at him and closed its eyes contentedly. "Can I talk to you about something?"  
Windsor perked his ears up but didn't much move his head. "I guess that means yes." Virgil smiled to himself a little before frowning as he dwelled on other thoughts.  
"So... this 'Hogwarts' place is like a boarding school, right?"  
Windsor blinked.  
"Do you think it'll be any better than public school?" The cat swished his tail.  
Virgil giggled sarcastically. "This is stupid." He leaned his head on the desk, holding his face up with his hands. "I'm talking to a cat about my problems." Virgil sighed. "What's wrong with me?"  
Windsor reached his paw out and laid it on the arm of Virgil's hoodie. He meowed softly.  
Virgil sighed again. "I'm scared it's just going to be another year without... y'know, any friends." He said quietly. "It'd be even worse at a private boarding school; I'd have to spend every day with people who didn't even like me."  
The kitten's whiskers twitched.  
"I still can't believe it. We're leaving *tomorrow*." Virgil got up from his desk and walked over to his stack of luggage. He swore he'd need a trolley for everything he had piled in the corner of his room. Virgil went to pick up his wand, but his hand brushed a folded-up sheet of parchment he somehow hadn't noticed before lying on a case. He took the paper and unfolded it. It took a couple of tries to read on account of chicken-scratch handwriting and some misspelt words, but he was still able to decipher the note.  
"Howdy Virgil,  
Hope you'll have a good year at Hogwarts. I'll be too busy tomorrow to take you to King's Cross Station, so you'll have to get your parents to take you. The Hogwarts Express leaves at exactly eleven o'clock, so don't be late. (Go through Platform 9 3/4 if you get lost.) Bring all your stuff!  
Best Wishes,  
-R. Hagrid  
P.S. Don't worry about sending an owl, I already have that covered."  


...

Dinner was uneventful, as per usual. Virgil stared at his plate as he ate, his parents silent. Any attempt at small talk terminated after a minute at best, an awkward tension hanging in the air. In a word, uncomfortable. Virgil's father spoke up, addressing the elephant-in-the-room.  
"Virgil?" He looked up.  
"Yes?"  
"Sir."  
"Yes, sir?" Virgil hastily corrected himself, face reddening.  
"Your departure is at eleven tomorrow, am I correct?"  
"Yessir. Eleven sharp." Mr Storm thought for a moment, rubbing his chin.  
"I have to be at work by eight."  
"Can't mom take me?" Virgil suggested. His father regarded her for a second. She was absorbed (or pretending to be, at any rate) in a paperback she was reading for the Ladies' Book Club, and didn't meet his eyes.  
"Your mother hasn't renewed her driving licence in quite some time." She glared at him from across the table, lowering her book a little.  
"It's been five years, give it a rest."  
"I'll give it a rest when you can drive legally."  
She sighed angrily. "I don't need to drive! I could hail a hackney carriage if I need anything or one of those driving services that's so popular these days."  
The two continued to argue, though clearly tired. They eventually stopped and went back to eating.  
"Anyways..." Mr Storm resumed as he turned to Virgil, halfheartedly writing off his wife's distraction. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. I can't drive you to King's Cross, so I'm afraid you'll have to take the bus. I'll give you a few pounds for the fare."  



	10. Chapter 10

Virgil stood at the bus stop with his luggage, bored waiting for a ride. His mother and father had said their impassioned goodbyes earlier, and now here he stood, an inordinate amount of cases and bags stacked next to him, with his cat sitting quietly next to him. Virgil hoped the bus would allow animals, but an annoying voice in his head kept reminding him how improbable that was. If a bus didn't work out, he thought, might as well use the tube. (Though it was easy to get lost in the London Underground, he'd learned that from experience.)  
Virgil took out his wand and inspected it, thoughtfully rubbing the handle with his thumb. There weren't many people out, thankfully, so he wasn't all that concerned about people thinking he was some sort of nerd, waving a wand about. He held the wand out towards the street for a second before putting it back in his belt loop.  
A couple of blaring honks from a horn sounded from down the street, shaking Virgil from his contemplation. A large, purple triple-decker bus skidded to a halt in front of him, lurching forward and to a stop as steam hissed out the bottom. A man swung out of the bus on a pole, leaning out to the pavement with one arm loosely clutching the pole and the other holding up a card. He was young-ish, maybe in his mid-thirties, with long, unkempt hair and pockmarks covering his face, and wore a ruffled purple-and-black suit.  
"Welcome to the Knight Bus." The man read off the card, not bothering to look at Virgil. "Servicing public transportation for the stranded witch or wizard. I am Stanley Shunpike..." He glanced up at Virgil. "You can call me Stan," Stan said monotonously, glancing back down at the card. "And I will carry your luggage this morning."  
"Uh..." Virgil needed a second to process. "Um, okay. Thanks." He picked up one of his cases.  
"No, no! *I'm* takin' your luggage, you get on." Virgil blinked and boarded the bus as the front side-doors creaked open, holding Windsor in his arms.

The bus was mostly empty, save for the driver, Stan, and a couple of passengers staring out the window or reading. Virgil made to take a seat, but he immediately noticed all the seats were haphazardly strewn about instead of bolted down.  
"Where 'r you off to?" Stan asked, heaving himself tiredly as he swung back into the bus.  
"King's Cross Station, sir." He replied. Windsor leapt onto Virgil's shoulder, his claws slightly digging into his robes. "If I may..." Windsor was rather heavy for a kitten. "Why are the seats like this?"  
Stan ignored the question. "Hear that Ern? King's Cross Station." The driver, an ancient-looking man with thick-rimmed glasses and wispy cotton hair, perked his ears and closed the doors with the tug of a lever, gripping the steering wheel with both hands after they creaked shut.

Suddenly Ern slammed the accelerator, and the bus took off. Virgil grabbed onto a pole as fast as he could, Windsor clutching onto his shoulder for dear life as the bus sped down the street. The other passengers seemed unfazed as the seats began to slide around, unfastened luggage toppling onto the floor and tumbling as if the bus were a ship on stormy seas. Virgil's things flew around the vehicle, and any attempt to catch or gather anything was futile as he nearly fell over with each jolt in a new direction.  
The Knight Bus came to a shuddering halt, pushing Virgil off the pole and his face onto the nearest window, Windsor hopping off in time to narrowly avoid the collision.  
"King's Cross Station" Stan called out. Virgil dizzily got to his bearings and started to pick up his belongings, strewn about the bus.  
"Um, how much should I pay for the fare, sir?" Stan raised an eyebrow, looking down at him.  
"Depends." He lowered his voice and leaned in. "Got any sickles?"  
"What?" Virgil figured he meant wizard money, but he only had a few pounds crumpled up in his pants pocket. "That's what I thought." Stan leaned away and threw the rest of the luggage out onto the pavement. Virgil hopped off the Knight Bus, Windsor in tow, and went to collect his cases.  
"Take 'er away, Ern!" He could hear from inside the bus, and it blinked out of view, tipping over a couple of traffic cones and picking up a manhole cover as it plunged back into the busy streets. Virgil looked around incredulously, but apparently, no one even noticed.


	11. Chapter 11

Virgil dragged his cases behind him, having tripped over them at least twice, as he walked through the station. Crowds of people swarmed the train station, even this early in the day, bumping into Virgil as well as each other as they bustled to and from ticket booths to trains, often knocking his luggage out of his hands. Windsor nervously kept at his heels, glancing wild-eyed at the people passing by. He darted through Virgil's legs, catching him off balance. He got to his bearings before he could fall over.  
"Nine..." Virgil muttered to himself, reading the platform signs. He walked a little longer.  
"Ten...?" Virgil turned, squinting as he looked for Platform 9 3/4. In retrospect, it seemed a bit odd that there would be a fraction for the platform number, but he had neglected to ask about it earlier. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a uniformed man walking about, ostensibly a station worker, considering the name "King's Cross Station" emblazoned on his hat. Virgil considered asking the man for directions, sighing and taking a few steps toward him until a hand at his shoulder intercepted him. He spun around in spite of limited mobility.  
"Virgil, hi!" It was the boy from Diagon Alley. He smiled a little at the sight of a familiar face, even if he was just an acquaintance. "It's Patton if you remember..."  
"Hey, Patton!" Virgil felt his chest loosen up. Funny, he didn't remember being specifically nervous about anything. Sometimes his stomach just reflexively tightened in stressful situations, and sometimes, it seemed, at random; he hadn't realized he was stressed until he calmed down.  
"Do you know where Platform 9 3/4 is?"  
"Oh, of course!" Patton smiled. "I came out here to help anyone who needed directions, so I guess that's convenient, huh?" He giggled infectiously. "They have a pretty bad system of explaining these things to first-years, apparently. Anyway, follow me!" Virgil hauled his belongings to follow Patton.  
"Oh, can I help you with that?" He adjusted his glasses.  
"Uh, okay. Thanks." Patton took a few of the heavier items, to Virgil's surprise, and carried them as they went.  
"Shame you weren't offered a trolley, eh?"  
"Hmm?" They *offered* trolleys and no one even considered him, an eleven-year-old hauling oversized luggage? How sadistic some people can be, he thought. Patton led him in front of a brick wall, between platforms nine and ten.  
"You first."  
"What?" Did Patton really expect him to walk into a brick wall? He didn't take him for a practical joker, especially considering that, if this was a joke, it wasn't particularly practical. Maybe it was like Diagon Alley, he thought, but he didn't know the right combination of bricks. Virgil turned to Patton, raising an eyebrow.  
"You walk through," Patton suggested.  
"Just-?"  
"Just like that."  
"..."  
"You can trust me, Virge. I can go first if you want." Virgil gave him a quizzical look.  
"'Virge?'"  
"I made it up. I won't use it if you don't want me to."  
"Err, no, I like it. You can use it."  
Patton glanced at a clock posted on a nearby wall. "Alright, good. Now, about the Platform?" Virgil hesitated.  
"Best give it a running start, it's almost eleven."  
"Patton, I'm not going to run into a brick wall!" He stared at him incredulously.  
"Well, do you want me to push you?"  
"No."  
"Virgil, just trust me, please. These are heavy." He nodded down at the cases in his hands. Virgil felt a little bad to keep Patton holding those for so long. He'd always had a problem with indecision. Virgil breathed in through his nose, breathed out, and stepped through the wall.


	12. Chapter 12

Virgil emerged on the other side, Windsor following at his heels. He stared at the Platform- young wizards and witches in black robes boarded the Hogwarts Express in troves, their parents, extended families, etc. sending them off with firm hugs and quick kisses on the cheek, goodbying.  
Virgil's chest tightened again.  
Steam billowed from the locomotive's pistons, the snow-like clouds swirling through the station with a quiet mechanical hiss. The locomotive itself shone; the dark, newly-polished metal and fresh coat of crimson-and-gold paint striking against the brick walls of the station. Coupled to the locomotive was a long, brim-filled coal car, and behind it passenger cars trailing far beyond eyeshot. The outlines of other students shuffling about their respective cars could be seen from the curtained, crystalline windows.  
"It's almost eleven." Patton said behind him. He must've come through the wall a moment ago. "Best board the train."  
"Oh, yeah, of course." Virgil walked toward the boarding platform, but stopped, turning back to Patton. "Are there assigned seats, or...?"  
"Um, no, not really." Patton smiled. "You're welcome in my booth if you want. It should be empty, except for my friend Logan, but you don't have to."  
He nodded, looking back to the Hogwarts Express.  
...  
Virgil and Patton boarded the train, unloading the former's valuables on the luggage compartment above the latter's booth. Patton opened the sliding glass door and sat down on his presumably previous seat, revealing another student sitting opposite of him. He wore the same regulation black robes everyone else was, save for his being markedly immaculate and un-creased, and a pair of large but practical, thin-rimmed black reading glasses, also spotless. His hair was neatly trimmed and perhaps at one time crew-cut, though the sides were fuller and his bangs were slightly brushed down. A bit like Patton's, Virgil noticed.  
"Oh, Virgil!" Patton gestured for him to sit down. He acquiesced, taking a tentative seat. The student looked up, his eyes parting from a heavy-looking tome he held.  
"Logan, this is my new friend, Virgil." Logan gave him a once-over, though well-meaning.  
"Greetings." He said tersely, extending his hand cordially.  
"Logan DeWitt." Virgil took his hand and shook it.  
"Virgil Storm."  
...  
Patton and Virgil talked for a while, the latter petting Windsor as the kitten purred in his lap. Patton took out a handkerchief and sneezed into it at least twice during their conversation.  
"Patton?"  
"Yeah?" He asked, readjusting his glasses.  
"You've sneezed twice in the last few minutes. Have you caught a cold?"  
"Oh, no." Patton waved his hand, dismissing the thought. "No. I'm just a little allergic to cat dander, is all." Virgil felt his cheeks flush at the thought of distressing his new friend.  
"Oh, I- I'm sorry, maybe I could-?"  
"No, It's okay! It only causes me to sneeze a little, but I love cats!"  
Virgil frowned, puzzled. "You love cats, but you're allergic to them?" Patton shrugged lightheartedly. Logan sighed, looking up from his book. He rummaged in a bag on the seat next to him and pulled out a small glass phial with a white paper band and filled with an inky-green liquid.  
"Here, Patton. Allergy potion- put the dropper in each nostril and spritz it once each." Patton took the phial and unscrewed it, following Logan's instructions. A sparkling green mist puffed into the air as he squeezed the bulb.  
He breathed in, blinking a couple of times.  
"Smells like peppermint." Patton remarked as Logan took back the phial and placed it in his bag, going back to his book.  
"Wat'cha reading there?" Virgil asked, instantly regretting it. Gosh, why'd he have to be so awkward? Logan looked up from his book again.  
"Hogwarts: A History."  
"Oh, neat." Logan continued reading. Virgil scratched his neck. Making friends is going to be hard.  
The awkward silence was cut through as the booth door slid open, revealing a rather wrinkly old woman with curly white hair and a small crooked witch hat pushing a trolley loaded with an assortment of what looked to be confectionaries, the "Honeydukes Express."  
"Anything off the trolley, dears?" The trolley witch asked. "Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, take your pick. This morning's edition of 'The Daily Prophet,' if you fancy?" She flashed a friendly smile in spite of her drooping jowls.  
Patton perked up. "Three chocolate frogs, a cauldron cake, and..." He glanced at Logan. "A box of Bertie Bott's, please, mum." The trolley witch's laugh lines crinkled as she smiled, handing him his treats.  
"Twelve sickles." Patton produced a dozen copper-brass coins and placed them in her hand. The trolley witch shuffled away, closing the booth door. Virgil looked at Patton's trove.  
"Sweets are my guilty pleasure..." Patton admitted, blushing. "But I figured we could share."


	13. Chapter 13

Patton and Virgil had taken to playing a sort of makeshift game, taking turns trying their hand at luck with the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in-between them. Logan had deferred from playing (he would rather not indulge in the chance of having an unfortunate vomit-flavoured bean, thank you very much,) but still observed the game at-a-glance with every other leafing of a page.  
It was Virgil's turn, and he picked out an earthy, brown-speckled bean. He popped it in his mouth, hoping for coffee or cocoa bean. He grimaced, screwing his eyes at the bitter taste.  
"Ugh. Dirt." Patton slapped his thigh, giggling. "Your turn." Virgil rasped after swallowing, half-laughing, half-coughing.  
Patton rummaged in the box, bringing out a solid, light brownish-orange bean. He quickly placed it in his mouth, fingers crossed for pumpkin. He smiled. "Toffee."  
Virgil hit the seat out of play-frustration, careful not to wake up Windsor. (Who had fallen asleep in his lap.) "The game is rigged; you keep getting all the good ones!" Patton shrugged, giggling again.  
Logan slipped a bookmark out of his pocket and placed it on the page he was on, shutting the book and putting it back with his other belongings. "If you two look out the window, you can see Hogwarts Castle." He said nonchalantly. Patton and Virgil stopped their game and stared out the window with him, the three looking out into the mountain-valley.

A sombre, delicate mist rolled over the sprawling rich-green forestry, needles of the ranks of perennial pine softly brushing each other in the cool highland breeze. The Great Lake was a giant, steel-grey mirror; reflecting the mountains, reaching ominously into the silver, overcast September sky like unimaginably massive monoliths. Resting upon an ancient forested hill overlooking the lake stood Hogwarts Castle, a towering assembly of Gothic spires and flying buttresses, stained-glass windows lit a fiery yellow-orange from candle and lantern-light within.  
They stared out the window in silent awe as the Hogwarts Express turned on the tracks, slowing minute-by-minute until it came to a halt. Windsor woke up and stretched, mewling.

...

Virgil (accompanied by his kitten, of course), Patton, and Logan disembarked from the train with the rest of the soon-Hogwarts-students onto the Station platform. "Curious," Logan noted, looking around. "What?" Virgil and Patton asked over the commotion. "I said 'curious.'" He repeated, adjusting for volume. "We've stopped on the other side of the lake. Do you suppose we'll have to walk?"  
Logan was cut off by a loud, grumbling voice. The three turned to see a giant man holding a lantern walk toward the crowd- Hagrid.  
"Firs' years! Firs' years! Follow me!" He boomed. Hagrid skimmed the crowd as they proceeded down the same path he came from, his eyes meeting Virgil's. He smiled and gave the boy a quick nod before turning to escort the rest.  


Hagrid led the first-years down a shady forested path, paved with old, mossy cobblestones. The trees reached far over their heads, oppressive and mysterious. A group of rather brazen wizards and witches walked in front of Virgil, Logan, and Patton, murmuring to each other about the rumours about the "Dark Forest" passed down from older siblings and dubiously correct gossip. The group walked in relative silence, amplified by the disquieting feeling of someone-or something- watching them from behind the dense foliage. Virgil walked a little faster.  
Patton paled, his eyes darting in-between the trees.  
"What is it?" Logan whispered, noticing his distress.  
Patton gestured for them to listen in on the group in front.  
"No way!"  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, really!" Said a rather confident-looking boy with neatly styled hair and a handsome physique, boasting to his easily-impressed acquaintances.  
"There's no such thing as giant spiders!"  
"Yes, there are! They're called Acromantulas..."  
"Acromantulae." Logan corrected under his breath.  
"...and I can't wait to see the look on your face when I capture one in front of the whole school!" Hagrid winced.  
"Fat chance, Roman." One of the students in his posse interjected.  
"We'll see who's making snide comments after everyone's cheering for *me* in the courtyard!" A nearby couple of students snickered.  
"Someone's got a big ego." One whispered.  
"Surprised he hasn't blown away, what with all that hot air." The two giggled to themselves again.  


...

The first-years followed the path until happening upon a small fleet of lantern-lit boats bobbing on the lake, opposite the castle. "All right firs'-years, get in the boats n' get ta sailin'. Go straight, n' the firs' light 'cha see 'll be the lake house."


	14. Chapter 14

Virgil, Patton, and Logan packed into one of the boats, waiting for the rest to get in theirs. Windsor looked a tad bit uneasy as it rocked slowly with every movement, the wooden boards creaking. It was still moored to the dock, thank goodness, but he petted his cat nonetheless for mutual comfort.  
Virgil was reminded of the time his parents took him on a ferry-ride when he was little. That was one of the few times his father laughed, back when his mother smiled, and he didn't understand words like "debt." Things changed rather quickly afterwards, a few years later he stood at the pavement in front of the house as he said goodbye to it with mummy. Seemed silly at the time, but he still stood there and waved at the emptied little Tudor-style house with his mother, holding her hand. A couple of hours after that he stood on the pavement in front of the apartment complex. He nor his mum waved. Virgil tried to take her hand in his, but her arms were crossed. He leaned a little closer, and stared at his new home for a while.  
"Excuse me?" Virgil looked up at the young man standing onshore. "Is there, um, any space?" He gestured towards the boat. It was that "Roman" guy from earlier, what was he doing here? He looked at the other boats, all full.  
"Yeah, there's space," Patton called over. Roman stepped into the boat, and several minutes later they were sailing to the other side of the lake.

...

To be honest, Virgil expected to be rowing the whole way, but the boats sailed themselves.  
They disembarked at the lake house, staring at the dauntingly giant stone staircase leading to the entrance hall. He carried Windsor the rest of the way, the kitten having been exhausted after climbing a flight or two. The students (finally) made it into the entrance hall, though more stairs awaited. A whimper/groan rippled through the crowd.  
"This 's where I leave ya," Hagrid said. "Pr'ceed up these stairs n' Professor McGonagall will give ya furth'r instruction."  
The students proceeded up the stairs, though the arduous walk was somewhat abated by the impressive scenery- columns topped with brass fire-brimmed dishes and floating wax-dripped candles gave the ancient corridor a mysterious and bright fiery glow. At the top of the staircase stood a tall, prim-looking, silver-and-white woman, donned with flowing emerald robes, a black, pointed hat and under-dress, and a sparkling Scottish brooch. She cleared her voice, silence falling over the students.  
"Welcome, first-years, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Headmistress McGonagall, but you may refer to me as 'Professor' if you so desire. In a moment, you will step through those doors..." McGonagall gestured to the doors to the Great Hall behind her. "In a moment, you will participate in the Sorting Ceremony, where you will be sorted into your houses. The four houses are Gryffindor, (she said with a slight intonation) Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. At Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. You are expected to support, respect, and cooperate with one another, as well as students from other houses. You will be briefed more on Hogwarts rules and the House Points system by your respective prefects, but for now, you shall be sorted into your houses and enjoy the Welcoming Feast."

The Great Hall was a massive stone room with arching flanked columns and a vaulted ceiling showing a starry night sky, lit by hundreds of free-floating white-wax candles. Blue-stained-glass windows reached the height of the hall, and in front of them, illuminated, sat the teachers at their dining table, lengthwise across the floor, the Headmaster's chair vacant. In front moreover were heightwise rows of wooden dining tables, already several students in their corresponding house tables chattering amongst themselves.  
"Hey, Logan?" Virgil whispered aside to Logan after glancing at an ornate gold-leaf-framed painting hung above the Headmaster's chair like a mantelpiece; an ancient man with velvet robes, an absurdly long, white beard, and deep laugh-lines wrinkling mirthful spectacled eyes, surveying the room and moving about as if the painting was rather a window or mirror reflecting him. "Who's that?"  
"I've read about him. That's Albus Dumbledore, or his painting, anyway."  
"Oh," Virgil responded, not getting his question answered. Suddenly the students were lined up single-file, and Professor McGonagall placed a frayed and patched dirty pointed hat on a stool, the Great Hall silent.

The Sorting Ceremony began. A seam tore open above the brim of the Sorting Hat, folding into a mouth as two eye-slits also opened. It grumbled, peering at the students, and started to slowly, dryly crackle. The Sorting Hat began a sort of song, its voice echoing off the stone. It detailed the history of the house founders, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor. Suddenly the hat took on an ominous tone, its voice chilly down Virgil's spine as it prophesied, gravely musing things he didn't understand. The Sorting Hat's eye-slits seemed to stop on him as it ended its song.  
"May the Sorting begin." Professor McGonagall unfurled a scroll and called out names by alphabetical order. The student then sat on the stall, the Sorting Hat placed on their head and calling out the name of the house they belong in.  
"Dewitt, Logan." Professor McGonagall called out after the first few students were sorted. Logan adjusted his glasses and walked over.  
"Ah..." The Sorting Hat mused at it was placed on Logan's head. "Interesting. Yes... yes, quite right. Ravenclaw!" Logan nodded, smiling ever-so-slightly as his fellow Ravenclaws cheered.  
...  
"Prince, Roman." Roman's turn. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head. "Hah, precisely. Gryffindor!" He stepped down, grinning at the "woo-"s and clapping as he made his way to the Gryffindor table.  
...  
"Wright, Patton." Virgil furrowed his eyebrows. Wasn't this in alphabetical order? Why was he skipped? The Sorting Hat's voice rang out.  
"Mm-hmm. Yes, no doubt. Hufflepuff!" The Hufflepuffs applauded as he sat down.  
...  
Virgil's heartbeat quickened, his palms sweaty as he waited for his name to be called. Maybe he was accidentally skipped? Maybe he wasn't even on the list? Professor McGonagall called out the last name on the list.  
"Storm, Virgil." Thank goodness. He stepped up to the stool, breathing fast. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head.  
"Well, well." It mused, echoing like a little voice in his head. "Where to put you, young man? Hufflepuff, perhaps? No, no. You have the heart for it, believe it or not, but I see something more. Ravenclaw? There's the wit, and a sharp mind, yes, but that would be too stifling. You have... spirit. Right there, deep... Gryffindor? Bravery, no doubt, and surprising capacity for courage. But... of course. Potential- that's the key. Striving to prove yourself at every turn. Mmm-hmm." The Sorting Hat grumbled in thought.  
"Slytherin!"


	15. Chapter 15

The Slytherin table applauded as he took a seat near the end, looking for Patton among the rows of students.  
"First-years, your attention please." Professor McGonagall stepped up behind an owl-crested podium, taking a deep breath before starting again. "Before we begin the Welcoming Feast, there are a few announcements." A few hungry students groaned quietly. "Firstly, many of you may already be aware of the staff situation. We ask that you please be patient while we fill the teaching vacancies, but note that this is not an excuse to misbehave or disregard your studies." She let that sink in, taking another breath. "Secondly, the Ministry for Magic has sent an investigative team to secure Hogwarts for the time being. While the investigators are here, you are expected to treat them with the utmost respect and dignity and to cooperate to the best of your ability. I will let the investigative head explain further." McGonagall turned, gesturing to a man sitting behind the Professors' table. He rose gingerly and made his way to the podium as she stepped away.

"Hullo, young witches and wizards." The man was rather tall, with a smart, yellow-banded black bowler hat covering his slightly-waved chocolate hair. He wore a pressed white dress-shirt with midnight-black pants and suspenders, his polished Oxfords clicking against the stone-tiled floor. The man shouldered his yellow-trimmed frock coat, his snake-emblazoned breastpin jostled in his lapel. "My name is Desmond-Charles Mendax, though you may refer to me as Investigator Mendax if you so wish." Desmond-Charles regarded the students with a yellow-gloved hand. "To reiterate Headmistress McGonagall's previous statements," He glanced at the Professors' table centre-chair. "Many of you are already aware of the Hogwarts staffing shortages. While much speculation surrounding the disappearances of those affiliated with Hogwarts school, both current professors and including a few of your peers..." Professor McGonagall gave him a wary look. "... in the form of rumours and circulations in the Daily Prophet, the Ministry for Magic has dispatched me and several Aurors to ensure your continued safety. We ask that you please cooperate with the investigation and report any relevant suspicious activity to myself or an Auror. Thank you, that will be all."

...

The students clapped as Investigator Mendax turned to his seat, and McGonagall returned to the podium. "Without further ado, may the Welcoming Feast begin!" The empty tabletops were suddenly filled with gold and silver plates and platters bursting with food and goblets brimming with drink. Virgil stared wide-eyed as the feast began, he'd never seen so much food before! He glanced up every other second, looking for Patton or Logan at the Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw tables, but to no avail. Virgil caught Roman's gaze for a second, looking away embarrassedly. As the feast came to a close, he couldn't help but look back at that portrait from earlier. Albus Dumbledore stared over the students with a nostalgic gleam in his eye, suddenly locking eyes with Virgil and tapping the side of the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses before resuming his gaze.

...

The feast ended on a fairly high note, the weather charm on the ceiling producing a few cheerful gusts of snow as they walked out. The houses were split up, and Virgil walked with the other Slytherins as their prefect escorted them to the dungeons. The prefect paused in the middle of the dungeon corridor, holding his hand out to stop the rest of the Slytherins. The students crowded toward the prefect to investigate, pushing past Virgil. He took a few steps forward and stood on his tip-toes.  
A cat? The Maine Coon sat on the stone floor, her yellow, lamplike eyes boring holes into the group.  
A Slytherin from the back ventured. "Why are we braking for a cat?" The prefect grimaced.  
"That's the caretaker's cat, Mrs Norris." He whispered. "You'd best steer clear of her."  
"What's the meaning of this?" A haggard, silver-haired man shambled into the corridor, deep wrinkles etched into his face and wearing a rather unkempt brown coat. "Mr Filch." The prefect greeted.  
"Thought you could sneak outta the Great Hall, eh? No doubt plotting with Peeves while the Sorting Ceremony's goin' on."  
"No, sir. The ceremony's concluded; I'm escorting the first years to their dormitories, sir."  
"Likely story," Filch grumbled, nodding towards his cat and shuffling away. The prefect sighed and proceeded down the corridor.


	16. Chapter 16

Virgil sat on his bed, staring out into the depths of the Great Lake from the dormitory window. It was late, sometime in the wee hours, probably. The room was dark and awfully quiet, everyone else in their beds asleep long ago. Dim blue-and-green light shone through the window, illuminating his features as he stared out pensively. He jumped as he felt something brush his leg, silently yelping and looking around wide-eyed. Windsor leapt onto the covers, nudging Virgil with his head.  
"Oh, it's just you." He scratched the underside of the cat's muzzle, eliciting a muffled purr on account of a slip of parchment in his mouth. "What's this?" Virgil whispered as he took it. He unfolded the parchment, holding it up to the window-light.

"Hi, Virgil! It was nice to see you again! It's a shame we were sorted into different houses, but I hope you're taking to Slytherin alright, Hufflepuff is great. I hope we'll have some classes together. Anyway, I sent this note to let you know you're welcome to visit me during Great Hall meals if you'd like. You can send messages with Windsor, by-the-way, he's really quiet when he means to be.  
Goodnight,  
-Patton.  
P.S. Logan wants to show you something at breakfast tomorrow. He thinks you'll find it interesting."

...

Virgil took in a breath of cool air through his nose, stretching as his eyes fluttered open. Windsor brushed against his face, the kitten's tail flicking the boy's chin.  
"Ow. Alright, let me get my clothes on." He whisper-laughed as he got up and dressed. The dormitory was nearly empty, the only other occupant still quietly snoring. Virgil sighed, adjusting his new Slytherin robes and breast-pocketing his wand. "Best hope we're not late to breakfast, hm?" Windsor seemed to agree, at least as much as a cat can.  
They left the dormitory and entered into the dungeon proper, with a couple of older students reading in armchairs near the fireplace. The Common Room was terribly dark as if it were still night, but the windows shone enough emerald-green light into the dungeon to see by.  
"Mister Storm, was it?" Virgil turned to a painting hung above the mantlepiece; the portrait of a slender, hook-nosed man in black robes. He looked down at the boy imperiously.  
"Um, yes, sir?" He read the gold plaque on the bottom of the frame: "Severus Snape- Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, 1960-1998"  
"I saw that cat of yours slinking around the dungeon last night with a slip of parchment in its maw. Frankly, if I were you, I'd find a better means of passing secret notes to your little friends, lest I get in trouble." Professor Snape frowned. "Run along now, get to breakfast. It does no good for a Slytherin to be late."  
Virgil nodded his head. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He bounded up the dungeon staircase, Windsor at his heels. For a moment Virgil thought he was going the right way, walking down the corridor until suddenly turning around and going in the opposite direction. He thought he'd retraced the prefect's steps from the Great Hall, but even a glance away and he'd end up in an entirely different section of the castle. Virgil's heartbeat quickened as he tried to find his way, a cold feeling setting in his empty stomach. He pivoted and immediately ran into someone.  
"Terribly sorry my boy." Virgil picked himself up.  
"N-no, it's my fault, I'm sorry." He said as he looked up at them. They were a relatively young adult dressed in black-and-orange pinstriped robes, with a cheery, dimpled face, bright chestnut eyes, and slightly-ruffled black hair.  
"Are you lost, young man?"  
"Um, yes, actually. I'm looking for the Great Hall."  
"Well, well. It just-so-happens I can escort you if you'll permit." They stuck out a hand. "Professor Stokes, at your service."


	17. Chapter 17

Professor Stokes led Virgil through the corridors to the Great Hall, smiling and waving at students passing by. The professor seemed to have a bit of a spring in their step, and he had to pick up the pace to keep in stride.  
"Professor?"  
"Yes, Virgil?" He tilted his head, thinking of something to say.  
"What do you, err, teach here?" Professor Stokes chuckled inwardly.  
"Defence against the Dark Arts. You'll have me for class later today, I should expect. You are a first-year, yes?"  
"I'll look forward to it. And, yes."  
"Excellent. I think it's perhaps one of the most useful classes you'll take." Stokes beamed.  
Wait, why would he need to learn defence against the "Dark Arts?" What were Dark Arts? Virgil felt a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach. How far can magic go...? He didn't really want to think about that, but he was still slightly intrigued.  
"Virgil?" He was snapped out of his thoughts.  
"Yes?"  
"We're here." Virgil looked through the entrance of the Great Hall, cloudy morning light shining through the stained-glass windows and dim wall-mounted candelabra casting a glow onto the bustling House tables, covered in breakfast trays, goblets, and plates.  
"Ah, thank you, professor."  
"You're welcome." Professor Stokes gave him a once-over and arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong? You're looking a little pale."  
He gave an apologetic smile. "I'm always pale."  
Stokes pursed his lips. "I best be off; today's my first day too. Chocolate helps, by the way, if you're ever in a fix."  
He nodded and spun on his heel, heading to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.  


...

The Great Hall was full-to-bursting with students, each seated in little cliques in each House's table, including (already) the first-years. Virgil hugged the wall as he entered, looking around for Patton. The Gryffindor table was mainly huddled around a rather animated Roman Prince, who waved his hands about as he made a joke. A ripple of fake laughter went up from the Gryffindors, several girls leaning toward him and twirling their hair.  
He wrinkled his nose and glanced at the Ravenclaw table, spotting Logan sitting alone with a halfway-read astronomy book. Patton said he had something to show him last night, might as well see what that was about beforehand. Virgil walked over to Logan's seat with the Ravenclaws, cautiously glancing at the teachers in the front and not daring to sit down.  
"Hey, Logan?" He turned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.  
"Oh, Virgil, hello. I have something I think you'll find informative." Logan lifted the book and handed him a slightly-pressed newspaper. "Yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet. I'd give the front page a read when you have time."  
"Oh, uh... thanks."  
"If you're looking for Patton, he's about a quarter of the way down the Hufflepuff table, by the front."  
The corner of his mouth quirked. "Thanks." They nodded to each other as Virgil left for the Hufflepuff table, Daily Prophet in-hand.  
"Hey, Patton." He felt his face get a bit warmer, he wasn't used to talking to others that much. Patton looked up from his strawberries.  
"Virgil, hi! You got my letter, yeah?" He nodded. "Cool. How's Slytherin?"  
"It's... alright, I guess. There's a talking portrait in the Common Room that doesn't seem to like me very much. I think it was 'Snape' or something."  
"Severus Snape?"  
"Yeah, that was it."  
"Hmm." Patton scratched his jaw. "I don't know how I feel about him, seems like a complicated guy. He's in the Second Edition of Hogwarts: A History."  
The corner of Virgil's mouth tilted, a dimple showing. "Huh. How's Hufflepuff going? You said it was good in the note, I think..."  
"Oh, yeah! It's really cool, everyone's been so kind and friendly." He looked around the table. "I'm really looking forward to this year."  
"I guess that makes one of us." Patton furrowed his brow.  
"What is it?" Virgil put a hand on his arm.  
"I guess I'm a little nervous, is all."  
"You haven't anything to be nervous about, Virge." He took a small bite of strawberry. "Just try not to overthink things. Besides, I'll be in your corner." Patton gave him a quick smile.  
"Thanks, Pat." Virgil half-smiled. "I should get to my table, don't wanna get in trouble..."  
"Sure thing. See you later!" He made an ILY sign, glancing at his hand as he readjusted his fingers, making sure he was doing it right. Virgil gave him a two-fingered salute and turned to sit at the Slytherin table.

...

"Today the first of September will mark the start of a new term at Hogwarts amid previously reported staffing shortages and disappearances in connection with the school. While Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry will keep their doors open despite the hiring of an unprecedented amount of substitute professors, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger has reportedly tasked the Department of Mysteries to assemble an investigative team, which will operate there for 'the time being.'  
It is widely speculated among Ministry officials that the disappearances of several witches and wizards in connection with the school, including professors, two governors, prominent public figures and potentially students if such disappearances are connected, is part of a conspiracy or criminal plot by dark wizards and/or witches unknown. In official preliminary Department of Mysteries press documents, there has yet to be identified any common means or motive, although many supposed former Death Eaters and current Azkaban prisoners are suspected. The victims are all of different magical lineages, however they are mostly muggle-born or half-blood. More on this story as it develops."


	18. Chapter 18

As breakfast ended and the students left the Great Hall for their first class, Virgil noticed Albus Dumbledore's portrait was waving at him, or rather Albums Dumbledore in the portrait waved. He stared at the painting for a moment, trying to follow its eyes in case he wasn't having at him, but Dumbledore put his hand down, smiled, and looked at the Gryffindors.  
A sinking feeling settled in Virgil's stomach as he soon realized he had no idea which class he was supposed to go to or where it was. On queue, Windsor bounded across the corridor and rubbed his leg. He held yet another slip of parchment in his maw, and Virgil bent down to retrieve it.  
"Oh, my schedule." He muttered to himself. "Let's see, first class- Slytherin/Ravenclaw first years, History of Magic, Professor Binns, Classroom 4F. Thanks, Windsor." Virgil gave him a soft pat on the head, eliciting a purr. "But please try not to run off again, hm?" To that, Windsor ran off.  
"Virgil?" He turned toward the voice.  
"Oh, Logan, hey."  
"First year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, Professor Binns'. Don't want to be late, do you, especially first class?" Logan pushed his glasses up his nose.  
"No, not really. Do you know where the classroom is?"  
"The prefects were leading us, but they've already left."  
"Oh." Virgil frowned a little.  
"I do know the way, however. Would you like me to escort you?" He tilted his head.  
"I haven't much of a choice, really."  
"I'll take that as a yes." Logan gave a quick smirk and spun on his heel, leading the way.

...

The History of Magic classroom was, thankfully, full when they slipped in, and nobody looked up as they took their seats. Logan was a little pale, visibly uneasy that the class bell had rung a second before they entered, though Professor Binns was nowhere to be seen. The class suddenly went silent as a translucent figure drifted into the room through the chalkboard and sat at his desk. He was quite old, (though that was expected, he was a ghost) and wore what looked to be a rather antiquated set of robes. Binns stood up, hovering ever-so-slightly above the floor as he scrawled some chalk lines on the board, not paying any attention to the class.  
"Welcome to History of Magic." He said, detached and monotonous. "Today's lecture will be an overview of the ancient forms and uses of magic, the first spells and potions, and early wand-making techniques..."  
Professor Binns droned on for the next half hour, not bothering to so much as glance at the students behind him. Virgil looked over at Logan, who was frantically scribbling notes on a slip of parchment with his quill and in imminent danger of spilling over his inkwell.  
Binns turned, facing the students for the first time with a look of slight shock.  
"Oh, new ones? Ah, yes, of course, first lesson... how could I forget?" He raked a hand through the wispy curls of his white hair and turned back to the board.  
"Very well. Can anyone give me an example of a type of early wand construction?" Logan's hand shot up. Professor Binns' brow wrinkled, as if he didn't expect anyone to answer.  
"Yes, er... young man?" He asked hollowly.  
Logan lowered his hand. "Well it depends on the particular region, professor." A few of the Slytherins rolled their eyes, which Virgil noticed with a frown. "European wandmaking techniques used a wide variety of wand woods from different trees, though mostly standard pine and fir. Western and Northern European wizards were the first to use unicorn hair, while Eastern Europeans began to domesticate dragons for heartstrings, et cetera." He took a deep breath and went in before Professor Binns could stop him. "Meanwhile, Mediterranean wizards experimented with reeds before settling with Cypress, and harvested Dittany stalks. Olive and Cedar were favored by wizards in the Middle East and Sahara desert, Rubber and Coconut by Central African wizards, Teak in India, and Bamboo stalks originally in China and Japan, before they started using Gutta-Percha and Dove, as well as Cherry respectively."  
The Ravenclaws stared at Logan in awed silence as he pushed up his glasses and breathed in. Most if the Slytherins muttered amongst themselves, clearly jealous, though Virgil remained looking at him with his eyebrows raised.  
"Yes... quite right." Binns said as the class shifted back to him. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Oh, blimey, the time..." He took a ghostly pocketwatch out from his robes and squinted at it, tapping the side and holding it up to his ear. "Oh, you're all still here." Professor Binns noticed. "Um, right. Please take notes on the first chapters of your books, and leave when the bell dismisses, thank you." He floated back to the board and resumed his chalk lines.


	19. Chapter 19

History of Magic was still awfully boring through the period, even more so than when Professor Binns was droning on. He stood floating in front of the chalkboard, attempting to draw what appeared to be a diagram, though Virgil couldn't make heads or tails of it. Logan was tracing a line in "History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot" with his finger, poring over the reference as his housemates discussed the chapter. Several students pushed their chairs toward him, stealing glances at his notes.

The rest of the period was, of course, uneventful; Virgil felt the tiredness weighing on his eyelids as he skimmed over a paragraph on dragon domestication. Professor Binns' monotone didn't help much, as he re-read his lesson plans aloud. The distant ringing of a bell sounded and everyone gathered their belongings with the scraping of chairs on the stone floor. Virgil closed his book and slipped it into his bag, hoisting it over his shoulder as he read his schedule.  
"Second class- Hufflepuff/Slytherin first years, Herbology, Professor Longbottom, Classroom 102/Greenhouses"  
He had somehow made his way to the greenhouses, though only by consulting several teachers and older students along the way. It was still on ground floor, thankfully, so he was able to get there before the bell. Virgil stepped into the stifling greenhouse, the glass panels reflecting the late morning light and bathing the room in a pale glow. There was a rather odd assortment of plants growing in planter boxes throughout the room, some slightly more normal looking, with blossoms large as fists and thick, waxy leaves, others looking more like deep sea creatures or appeared to slightly pulsate. He decided to stay far away from those.  
"Hey, Virgil!"  
Virgil turned to see Patton beaming and beckoning over to an empty spot next to him. He obliged, making his way over to his friend (were they friends yet?) or acquaintance, sidling along the greenhouse walls and accidentally bumping into a couple of other Slytherins, who gave him a withering look before turning back to their conversation.  
"Hey, Patton." Virgil sighed with relief as he stepped next to him.  
"How's your first day going?"  
"It's... okay, I guess." He lowered his voice a little. "It's only second period and I'm exhausted. Anyway..." Virgil said, raking a hand through his hair. "How's your first day?"  
"Sorry to hear that." Patton gave him a sympathetic look. "It'll take a little while to get used to, Hogwarts, but you'll take to it just fine I think. Shame though, it must be a bit harder since you're..." He stopped, glancing around with a nervous look. "you know, muggle-born." Patton's weary gaze lingered on the Slytherins. "Not that that's a problem, though!" He added hastily.  
Virgil's mouth twitched; he didn't know what to make of that. "You talk about Hogwarts like you've been here before. Almost sound like Logan." He added with a little smile, keen on changing to a different subject.  
"Oh, yeah." Patton brightened, clearly also eager to change the subject. "It's my first year, too, but I've heard a lot from my parents and siblings."  
"You've got siblings?"  
"Mhm. Five." Virgil's eyebrows shot up, but the door burst open before he could continue.  


"Please do not touch the bubotubers, you'll get the pus all over your robes!" The professor entered, squinting in the direction of a gang of Slytherins in the back attempting to dare some Hufflepuffs to touch it. Professor Longbottom was a rather modest-looking wizard with a kind, moon-like face, wearing a shabby and threadbare-in-spots set of thick, protective robes, dragonskin gloves, and what looked like Wellingtons. He carried a potted, quivering cactus-like plant in either arm and shot the Slytherin gang a warning glance before setting them down and turning to the class again.  
"Hullo, class. As you can probably tell from your schedule, I am Professor Longbottom, but you can call me Professor Longbottom." A few of the Hufflepuffs laughed politely. He gave a quick smile.  
"Yes, alright. Now, today we will begin our first Herbology lesson. Are there any questions before we begin?" A Slytherin in the corner raised his hand.  
"Question?"  
"Is it true you wielded the sword of Gryffindor at the Battle of Hogwarts? And that you killed Voldemort's snake?" There seemed to be a slight shudder through some of the students when he said the name. Patton looked up, wide-eyed.  
Longbottom looked a bit thoughtful for a moment, and cracked a toothy grin.  
"The sword of Gryffindor? Nonsense! I think you're getting me confused with Roonil Wazlib. Great man, Roonil. Now..." He clapped his hands together firmly. "Gloves on, please."


	20. Chapter 20

Herbology turned out to be a fairly easy period, with Professor Longbottom going over tedious safety procedures and whatnot. Halfway through the class he let them off as he went around watering several plants. The rest of the class talked in groups, the most popular conversation topic being rumours about the professor, which he ignored. Patton talked off Virgil's ear the whole class, but he really didn't mind as most of it was rather interesting information about the wizarding world. (He told him about a modestly famous Ministry employee who had finally retired after figuring out the function of a rubber ducky.) They chatted for a while, almost up until the dismissal bell. The students gathered their things as the distant bell chimed.  
"It was nice talking to you today, Virge."  
"Oh, thank you." Virgil wasn't used to that kind of compliment, glancing at the other students around him to gauge their reactions. If they thought it odd, they didn't say anything.  
"See ya later, kiddo." Patton hoisted his bag over his arm and left. Virgil thought to himself about several things as he walked across the grounds to Flying class. He turned over Patton's calling him "kiddo" in his head, (They were about the same age...) and the distinct lack of spell-casting. He was given a wand for crying out loud! Seemed like the more magic-oriented classes were reserved for the next day, unfortunately. Virgil made it to a large, green area on the castle grounds with several students already standing and rows of broomsticks lying on the ground. A wild-haired woman with yellow eyes and hawkish features (quite literally) wearing a somewhat judicial set of flying robes blew on a silver whistle hanging on a chain around her neck as the bell chimed.  
"Welcome first years, gather around. I am Madame Hooch, and today will be your first flying lesson."  
Apparently this period was a dual-block with the Gryffindors, as a rather rambunctious red-and-gold clad group of students gathered around their broomsticks. Directly across from him was Roman, who laughed at a joke as he stood next to his broom, ready to mount. "Please step up next yo tour brooms and prepare to mount. Excellent form, Prince, was it? One point to Gryffindor." Roman nodded self-assuredly, getting a reflexive eye roll from Virgil. "Now, everyone, stand your ground, and firmly say 'up!'"  
The students began to repeat 'up' over and over, but to little avail. Only Roman's broom actually made it over a foot in the air, standing straight-up and and into his hand. The others looked on in awe for a second, a couple clapping before going back to their more problematic brooms with more vigor. Virgil's broom was mostly unresponsive and only occasionally teetered upward before falling again. After several minutes of this (rather pointless) exersize, they were told to mount their brooms.  
"Now, on my whistle, kick up from the ground, hard. Three, two, one..." She blew, the shrill sound cutting through the air. Several of the students kicked as hard as they could, succeeding in only falling over or forward. Roman, of course, shot perfectly into the air, steering around a lap or two and coming to a hover above his classmates. Virgil didn't go much of anywhere, and felt a bit silly. "Charming display, Prince, but your left side is slightly imbalanced and you're easily exposed to extra drag. Now, would you please come back down?" Roman landed after a couple of students backed away.  
The rest of the lesson was of a similar caliber, and to be quite honest Virgil expected a school of magic to be more... interesting. He hoped Defence Against the Dark Arts would be better, he thought as the next bell rang and he shoved off to his next period. Windsor pawed at a flower on the grounds for a few seconds before following.  
"Well, well..." Professor Stokes stood tsk-ing in front of the DADA classroom. "Virgil Storm, you're late by about negative two minutes."  
"Oh, I'm sor- negative?" Stokes cracked a little smile.  
"Sorry there Virge, I joke around. You're two minutes before the bell." Virgil twitched a little at that. "Your friend Patton was talking about you all class, I almost had to get onto him. He said that was your nickname, yeah?" He nodded.  
"If you don't want me to use it, I won't." Virgil had a puzzled look.  
"Oh, I thought..."  
"Hmm?"  
"Well, I don't want to seem disrespectful, but I thought you were sort of... um, mocking me, I guess." Professor Stokes winced, softening his voice a little.  
"Why's that?"  
"Well, you were really nice to me earlier, so I thought you might have been, err... patronizing me, I guess. I- I don't know, I'm sorry, never mind."  
"No, no, it's okay. I apologize if it seemed like I was patronizing you, but please know that was not my intention. I hope we can have a healthy mutual respect for one another?"  
"Y-yeah, okay. I blow these things out if proportion in my head like this, so I guess that was the reason..." The bell rang.  
"That's quite alright, Storm. Go ahead and get to your seat."


End file.
